Page 102 of The Pucking Arrangement

“It was in the laundry,” she admits, voice dropping to a near whisper. “It smells of you.”

That does it.

“Does it help you with…things?”

She hesitates, then slowly trails her fingers down her neck, across her collarbone—exactly where I breathed against her skin last night.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I can still feel you on me.”

“What are you imagining while you’re wearing it?”

The blush spreading across her cheeks is devastating.

“Mm. So many nice things.” She evades the answer. “But I want to hear what you’re thinking about first.”

I lean back against the headboard, gripping my throbbing cock and letting her see exactly what she does to me. Her breathing accelerates. “How you gasped when I touched you. How perfectly you fit against me. All the ways I’m going to make you fall apart when I get home.”

She makes a small, desperate sound. “Tell me.”

“First,” I growl, “I’m going to pin you against the wall. Press my thigh between your legs while I taste that spot on your neck that makes you shake.”

Her eyes flutter closed. “Tell me more.”

“Then I’ll carry you to my bed. Undress you. Spread you out like a feast. Take you apart with my mouth until you’re begging.”

“Dmitri...” Her voice breaks on my name.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you imagining my cock filling you, sliding in and out of your pussy?”

“Yes,” she shudders. “The long, slow strokes. It feels so good.”

“Open your eyes,solnyshko. I want to see your eyes when you imagine it.”

She does, and the raw need in her gaze nearly breaks me. I want to climb through the screen and consume her. Or at least catch the next plane to New York. But instead, I do the next best thing, shifting on the bed, pumping my throbbing dick, my jaw clenched tight.

“Tell me,solnyshko.” I manage to growl, rough edges curling around my words. “Did you think of me today?”

She pants now, her breath coming in fast.

“Yes,” she moans, and my blood ignites.

“Did you imagine my cock stroking your pussy?”

Her cheeks are on fire, but she doesn’t look away. “Yes.”

“Did you…take care of yourself?”

She nods. Slowly.

“Show me how you did it.”

Her breath stutters.

“Show me how you took care of yourself,” I demand, voice dark, gravelly. “I want to see how desperate you are for me.”

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